Wife: I’m nearly done with your Valentine’s Day music for this year*. I think I’m going to print out the lyrics for the songs.”
Me: I’m almost done, too! But, uh, you probably don’t want to pay attention to the lyrics. It’s the music I picked the songs for.”
Wife: I know. I realized that on our first Valentine’s Day when you gave me a disc of very, very pretty break-up songs.”
At points in life I have valued hand-holding in public. Passionate kisses in damp alleyways. Whispered conversations in noisy bars. Dancing too close. Sharing ice cream. Lace, ribbons, leather. Love letters. Sleeping in a t-shirt instead of going home. Car rides to the airport. Sweet smelling hair. Getting soaked in a summer storm. Testing limits. Tempting fate. Being a trophy. Big, obvious declarations of love. Sneaking out for a kiss.
Every day my wife offers a new declaration of love. She drops me at work or walks the dog. She does the dishes or brings me a glass of water. She reads before bed. She makes our daughter giggle. She makes coffee the night before and takes out the recycling. All things I value now. I always want more, because I am exceedingly greedy and because she is delicious, but that’s an ongoing, quiet negotiation. We’re married, after all. It could (will) go on for a few decades more.
I’m not sure how I do at obvious declarations of love. I try to weave them in through everything in our lives. It isn’t just giving over the last bite. It’s setting out with an idea of what she’d like most and making sure all the best bits are pointed her way. But there is always room for more. Thank goodness for that. She’s the lyrics to my music, guys. I am so damn lucky.